Goodbye Mister Vimes
by Demus
Summary: What if Carrot hadn't arrived at the Vimes vs Cruces showdown quick enough? What if everything had gone wrong? Rating for language and 'gonne' violence, also character pain.
1. Hasta la vista

My first Discworld fic, I'm so excited!  
  
I was just wondering, what would have happened to Vimes if Carrot had lingered with Angua a little longer? Lots if character pain in this one, and I'd be really grateful if people reviewed and told me whether there should be character death as well. I know that some of the references in this story belong in Night Watch, and most of the things that the gonne says are in the wrong order, but please bear with it.  
  
I'm so sorry that you have to read this. I really, truly am. I'm also sorry for any grammar, spelling or punctuation mistakes and the typos. I'm writing this on a program that doesn't have a spellcheck, and I'm not very good at spotting obvious mistakes.  
  
Disclaimer; Godsdammit, I don't own Discworld or any of its characters. I suppose that's a good thing for Mr Pratchett and all his fans (including me!)  
  
N.B. /this is the voice of the gonne/  
'this is people thinking' ~*~*~*~  
  
Goodbye Mister Vimes.  
  
/You're mine. We don't need him anymore./  
  
/All that you hate, all that is wrong- I can put it right./  
  
/Shoot them all. Clean up the world./  
  
That gentle, soothing, hypnotic, commanding voice, resonating round his mind, swamping his thoughts, drowning his control. Vimes shook his head to clear it, trying to rally his thoughts. The voice of the gonne had been murmuring to him, but the quiet hum was growing louder and louder, more and more full of rage.  
  
/SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM!/  
  
"Shut up!" Vimes yelled, clutching with his free hand at the side of his head. In the background, behind the endless scream of command, he could hear Cruces talking, begging, pleading.  
  
The gonne quieted for a moment and Vimes felt the malicious glee oozing from it. It was enjoying this abject submission from its former vessel. But it was hungry for more death.  
  
Vimes forced himself to focus. 'I am the Captain of The Watch. I am about to marry the woman I love and spend the rest of my days in happy retirement,' his hand on the gonne tightened. "This thing killed Angua. It killed Mr Hammerhock. It brought about the death of Cuddy. It killed a girl whose name was unknown and whose life nobody cared about," his grip on the metal slackened again. 'But I am still a member of the Watch. And I will get this bastard by the Law.'  
  
He flung his hand out and the gonne clattered to the floor, snarling with anger at its defeat. The screaming inside his head was silenced. And before he could make any move to stop him, Cruces had grabbed the gonne and was pointing it at him, his eyes blood-shot and manic.  
  
"You thought could stop me, you stupid policeman! But Ankh-Morppork needs a king, and I have all the evidence I need to make sure this city can regain its former glory. What I don't need is you. Goodbye Mister Vimes!"  
  
The gonne fired. A horrendous white-hot agony seared though Vimes' chest, burning, ripping, biting, clawing, tearing. He staggered back into the wall, putting his hands to his chest. He fought down the cry of pain that threatened to erupt from his throat as hot blood cascaded down his clothes, soaking the material and covering his hands. The world swam in front of his eyes; he felt dizzy with the shock, the sheer torture was almost driving him to his knees.  
  
Cruces swaggered over to him and sneered over him as he struggled to stay on his feet, bent over in an attempt to rid himself of the pain. Vimes' head was bowed and his chest heaved as he dragged in great gulps of air. The head of the Assassin's Guild smirked at his plight.  
  
"You see? No-one can stand against me! You thought you could arrest me like some common felon? Hah!"  
  
Vimes forced himself to look up. 'Hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you without a word.' Cruces continued to crow and leer over him as he tried to rally his thoughts and his instincts- instincts he'd honed to razor sharp, instincts that had kept him alive when he was the skinny gang kid on the streets. He let the Beast off its chain. It was as weak as he was, but it could smell blood.  
  
With all the force he could muster, Vimes channelled all the rage he held towards this evil man into that single blow. His clenched fist connected with Cruces' face and his head snapped back with a sickening crack. The black clothed form slid slid to the floor. The gonne clattered away over the boards. Vimes collapsed.  
  
Lying in a tormented heap on the floor, he strained to focus as he heard heavy familiar footsteps thunder up the stairs. Carrot burst into the room and stopped dead in horror. Then a strangled cry rose from his throat. "Sir!" He ran to Vimes' side and knelt next to him, gently turning his captain over to examine his wounds.  
  
Vimes moaned and feebly struggled as the corporal pulled away his shirt to reveal the gapind wound that was spewing blood down his chest and soaking his clothes and Carrot's.  
  
"Sir! Mister Vimes, can you hear me? Please sir, answer me! You've got to stay awake!" Carrot cried as he feverishly began to rip up strips of cloth from his shirt and wrap them over and around the wound, putting pressure on it in an attempt to staunch the blood flow.  
  
Vimes cried out and pathetically tried to push Carrot away. "Carrot, you great pillock, leave it! Go and help Angua! She's a werewolf, she'll recover! Go on, I'm done for!" Vimes' voice was choked and hoarse, barely audible.  
  
Carrot's eyes were spilling over woth tears by this time, his huge shoulders shuddering slightly as he continued to tend to the injury. "Come on sir, don't give up! Not now- you can't hurt Lady Sybil like this sir, please!"  
  
Vimes sighed. "Carrot," his voice was slowly growing weaker. "You're in charge now- look after the city for me. Tell Sybil I love her. And don't let the Watch get to the state it was..." He closed his eyes and allowed his exhausted body to relax slightly. The hideous agony faded as he sank into blackness.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Well? What do you think? Please tell me!  
  
Also, do you want Vimes to survive or perish? It's all down to you chaps and chappesses! Register your vote via reviews! (please?) 


	2. Do you feel lucky?

Wow. This took a long time. It didn't help that I lost this chapter about seven times because of my stupid computer.

Thank you, my long-suffering readers: zimo, Acy (comments duly noted- cheers), Smallprint, sunny-historian, llemun, Chess, Max Krugman, soph, Lucy, chunk, Draco, supreme vimesfan, Dancing Mouse, Aislynn Crowdaughter and Egleriel.

I honestly think this isn't worth the wait. The real action comes next chapter…if I ever get round to writing it. DAMN GCSEs!

Disclaimer: I do not own Discworld

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Today was different. On a day like this, Corporal Carrot of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch would usually be patrolling the streets, keeping an eagle eye out for criminals- or, at least, criminals with the common decency to break the Law where the Law could see them. 

But today was different. Today he sat in a small room in the Watch House, his helmet on his knees, watching the rise and fall of his superior's chest, listening to the gasping rattle of agonisingly slow breaths. Two days had passed since the gonne incident. Two days since Dr Cruces had been found: neck snapped, body lying against a stone pillar. Two days since the discovery of a horrendously weak Samuel Vimes, lying frighteningly still in an ever-increasing pool of his own blood. Two days since he had heard those weak words- _"You're in charge now- look after the city for me. Tell Sybil I love her. And don't let the Watch get to the state it was..."_

Carrot closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. That horrific picture seemed to be continually playing in his head. If only he hadn't lingered by Angua's body…If only he'd run faster…If only…If only…If only…

He'd never felt so dmn helpless.

In the unnatural silence of the sick room, he heard the door open behind him and soft padding footsteps coming towards him. He sighed as Angua placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned his head to rest his cheek against it.

"Lady Sybil is resting. I thought it best to leave her for a while- she needs to be alone." Angua spoke softly, as if she dared not disturb the deathly quiet in the room. "Carrot, you can't do this to yourself. You haven't slept for two days." The strain of her injuries and the stress of the last few days were clearly evident in her voice.

Carrot lifted his head, keeping his gaze fixed on Vimes. "I can't," he murmured. "I just…I can't…"

Angua stepped in front of him and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look into her eyes. He didn't resist as she locked her gaze with his, protecting him from the sight of the sick bed. Vimes lay on his back in the bed. White bandages were wrapped tightly around his chest, with countless herbal compresses bound over the injury to lessen infection and staunch the bleeding. He lay unmoving, his skin containing the pallor of a corpse. The Patrician had ordered the best doctors to attend the captain- hereby banning all of the human doctors in the city- even resorting to sending word to Klatch and even further afield. They could do little but try to make Vimes comfortable- none had ever dealt with this sort of wound before. No one expected him to live.

The corporal clenched his eyes shut tight and gritted his teeth to block the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. It was too much- it was all too much. Angua continued to hold his shaking form as he dropped his helmet to bring hugely muscled arms up around her, crushing her to him. "What will we do without him?" he whispered as he buried his head in her shoulder. She grimaced and tightened her arms around him.

When his tears had subsided, Carrot released Angua and wiped his face with his hand. The werewolf regarded him for a moment, then came to a decision. She carefully removed her breastplate and placed it on the floor. There was moment of bodily uncertainty, and then a graceful golden wolf was stood in her place. Carrot stared at her, confused. She whined and trotted to the bed, gently nudging Vimes with her nose.

Carrot's brow furrowed. "There's a small boy trapped down a well?"

The wolf shook its head and opened its strong jaws, resting her teeth against the skin of Vimes' arm. Her meaning was clear- better a lycanthrope than a corpse. Carrot stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. "Not now. He couldn't bear it. Not until it's the only way…"

Angua whined again. Her tail rested between her legs, but there was a fierce, animal determination in his eyes. She would not watch Sam Vimes die. There were too many people in the city who needed him. Not just Carrot, but the rest of the Watch as well. Not just Lady Sybil, but the women whose lives were made a little easier by the generous gifts of their anonymous benefactor. Times were changing, and if the Watch was to change with them, it needed a captain who was prepared to push policing into the Century of the Fruitbat. Maybe Sam Vimes was that man.

And she would not let him die. She removed her teeth from Vimes' arm and turned away. She took one last look at Carrot, then left the room to make her vigil.

The big corporal didn't watch her leave. His eyes were once again fixed on the still form of his captain as the desperate rattling breath continued to wheeze agonisingly through him. Carrot's lip trembled and he buried his face in his hand as tears threatened once more. He knew Vimes would probably die. He knew it. The chances of him surviving were a million to one. But, as Carrot should have known, on the Discworld, million to one chances crop up nine times out of ten.

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Keep voting for what you want to happen! It could still change! 


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